


My heart and all its dark corners

by asuralucier



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Compelling Everywhere, Dubious Consent, Eyes Eyes Everywhere, M/M, Statements as Foreplay, beholding kink
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2020-09-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:46:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26266708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asuralucier/pseuds/asuralucier
Summary: “I’m sorry to have inconvenienced you, Jon, but I hope you can see it from my perspective. Jurgen Leitner was a dangerous man, in love with himself. It is likely that if he had lived, that you would have come to harm.” Here, Elias inclined his head, in the very picture of contrition. “I couldn’t have let that happen, you see? I couldn’t let anything happen to you.”“But now, thanks to you, I’m a bloody murder suspect.” Jon glared at him, eyes so bright with knowing so as to put a warm swell in Elias’s heart.(Set between Seasons 2 and 3, that canon divergent AU where Jon doesn’t move in with Georgie, but grudgingly stays with Elias. Needless to say, it’s a bit of an eye-opener.)
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 5
Kudos: 62





	My heart and all its dark corners

One thing that Jonathan Sims, former Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute was good at, was keeping out of sight, and therefore, out of mind. Elias liked that tremendously about the young man. What Jon lacked in natural instincts, at times key to human survival, he made up in being invisible towards eyes that weren’t looking for him. 

Thankfully, in a bar as illustrious as the Boar’s Head, a stone’s throw from the Whitechapel tube station, brimming with all sorts of unsavoury characters, such eyes kept to themselves. Regardless, Elias’s entrance into the place garnered some attention. What he was keenly aware of, however, was that the lone figure sat at the corner table, one of the farthest from the bar was paying him no mind. 

Elias collected a pint he had no intention of drinking from the bar and joined Jon at his table. 

Jon sat stone still, determined to ignore him. An understandable reaction, all things considered. Jon’s stubbornness was not the most attractive part of him, but Elias was learning a version of patience. 

“I’m sorry if it put you out coming here,” Elias said. “Thank you for meeting with me, Jon.” 

“Did I have a choice?” Jon countered. 

Elias took a moment to enjoy the sensation, and found it odd that the sensation had evolved. Aside from a prickle on his tongue, which he knew to expect, he found himself oddly thirsty. But not enough to drink whatever the barman had pulled. While the top of his pint still looked enough like the lager he’d asked for, something had sunk towards the bottom of the glass, making it a sickly green colour. 

Elias turned his attention to the task at hand. “If we wanted to get pedantic, yes, you did. You always have a choice, Jon. All I want to do is to ease you into things. But the choice is always yours to make.” 

Jon finally looked up from burning a hole in the table’s uneven, mouldy surface. “What do you want, Elias? I can barely stand to be sitting here with you. With a...” A look of surprise came into Jon’s eyes, as he tried to continue speaking; Elias could practically hear his teeth grinding as he worked to form words. 

“Murderer?” Elias finished helpfully. “I’m sorry to have inconvenienced you, Jon, but I hope you can see it from my perspective. Jurgen Leitner was a dangerous man, in love with himself. It is likely that if he had lived, that you would have come to harm.” Here, Elias inclined his head, in the very picture of contrition. “I couldn’t have let that happen, you see? I couldn’t let anything happen to you.”

“But now, thanks to you, I’m a bloody murder suspect.” Jon glared at him, eyes so bright with knowing so as to put a warm swell in Elias’s heart. 

“I’m sorry about that too, well and truly sorry.” _Sorry_ was beginning to leave a sour note on his tongue. Apologising was not something that came easily to Elias, though opportunities had certainly arisen for him to practice in recent years. “It’s why I’m here, Jon. To make it up to you. Where are you staying now?” 

Jon ground his teeth some more. Finally, he said, “Georgie Barker’s. But she’s been muttering about throwing me out.” 

“Why?” 

“It bothers her that someone has been sending me statements. Hand-delivering them, it looks like, so someone must know where I am. Was it you?” 

Well. Now this was interesting. Elias leaned his elbows forward to squeeze himself more and more into Jon’s field of vision until he was the only thing Jon saw, even as the man shrank back and cowered in his seat. “What if it was?” 

To his credit, Jon managed not to reply, this time. 

“Have the police come by to question Miss Barker regarding your whereabouts?” Elias asked, although he knew the answer. 

“No.” Jon shook his head. “They wouldn’t have any reason to, we…” There it was again, that stilted, unnatural pause, as if too many words were at the tip of his tongue, each crowding for their rightful place. Finally, what won out was, “We knew each other at university. Briefly. She doesn’t consider us to be friends, to start.” 

“I see.” Elias nodded. And yet despite all such protests, Jon had seen it fit Jon was holding his own, just about. His astounding progress over the last few months was coming to the fore at once. When it became clear that no other information was forthcoming, Elias moved on; he was in no hurry. Everything would reveal itself in good time, though he didn’t want to overstay in the Boar’s Head for even a single minute. “Let’s suppose for a moment that Miss Barker throws you out. Where would you go then?” 

Jon’s suspicious glare lifted for a moment as he appeared to think about it. When he picked up his pint, he appeared to have set his suspicion back where it belonged. “I don’t know. I don’t think she would.” 

“She’s said it, which could only mean she’s already thinking about it,” Elias pressed. “In this day and age, it’s very important that a young woman feels safe, Jon. Especially in her own home.”

“So it was you? Sending me statements.”

Why don’t you come stay with me? You’ve seen my flat. We’ll hardly be in each other’s way.”

“I guess not,” Jon agreed, if unenthusiastically. 

But still, it was a start. Elias reached out and took Jon’s hand. He felt Jon tense in his grasp, but in the end, Jon didn’t pull away, although he didn’t relax either. “More selfishly, I’d feel much better if someone could keep an eye on you. Make sure you stay out of trouble.” 

“Do you live alone?” Out of the million questions floating around in his head, Jon was nearly surprised at the one that finally popped out of his mouth. 

So too, it seemed, was Elias, the faintest etchings of shock carved on his face as he turned to Jon while hanging up his coat. “Does it look like someone else lives here?” 

It was true that Jon had once seen Elias’s flat as a result of a last-minute Christmas party a few years back, but he, like everyone else, had had plenty to drink and he couldn’t exactly remember details, much less explain why he’d even asked. If anyone did live here, that someone looked like they were either well-paid help, or an obsessive-compulsive closet case. There didn’t seem to be a hair out of place. Then again, Elias wasn’t home much. 

Elias waved the question off, as if eager to pretend that Jon hadn’t even spoken in the first instance. “Come, let me show you to your room.” 

Jon followed him down a winding hallway, longer than normal, it seemed, for a flat of this size. But finally, Elias stopped in front of a door (thankfully fitted with a lock) and gestured that Jon should take the lead.

“Please. After you.” 

Jon went in first, suddenly gripped with a terrible uncertainty. He almost didn’t want to open his eyes, but then he felt Elias moving into the room behind him and then a heavy hand settled on his shoulder. “Well, what do you think?” 

The room was of a modest size, with a sofa that looked like a fold-out bed, a desk, and a window looking out towards a green, leafy street. He didn’t know why, but Jon was nearly expecting Elias’s spare room- _cum_ office to be wallpapered with some sort of hideous print. He was relieved to see that the only colours in the room were the tame dark blue of the sofa, which was muted and kept carefully to itself. The walls were beige. 

Jon went over and peeked through the blinds, lifting one with a finger. From this vantage point, he could spy a woman watering her garden and animatedly trading gossip with a next door neighbour. 

“To tell you the truth,” Elias said next to his ear, and Jon started, but only a little, “this is one of my favourite things about this room.” 

“What is?” Jon breathed. They were speaking in a closed room, presumably about to talk about those who didn’t know they were being watched, let along spoken about, and yet…

“This vantage point. You could see all the way down the street unobstructed. A constantly changing view. Always something new to notice.” All of the sudden without any warning, Elias reached past Jon to open the blinds, leaving him to blink against the harsh light that spilled into the room. 

“...How’s everything over at the Institute? Place must be crawling with police.” Jon said, fumbling for some pretense of conversation. He felt a strong grip squeeze him at his elbow, and with a little nudge from Elias, Jon let himself be led over to the bed. He sat down, and was surprised to find that the mattress had plenty of give. The mattress gave a second time as Elias took a seat next to him. The man’s hand was on his knee, and Jon looked at it. The fact that he was now paying close attention to their proximity didn’t seem to faze Elias in the slightest. 

Instead, Elias seemed to enjoy the attention. “Martin has more or less taken over the reading of statements. Of course, I would prefer everything be uniformly done, but I suppose that can’t be helped.” 

Somehow, the idea of Martin reading and cataloguing statements in his stead made Jon slightly ill. He felt a rush of soured, churning bile of something that was probably never food to begin with. This must be true, Jon thought, because he hadn’t had breakfast at Georgie’s before heading out to meet with Elias. 

Jon tried his best to put the image of Martin and the statements out of his head, shaking himself, as if that would help. 

“And Tim?” 

“Hasn’t the stomach for it.” Elias shrugged. “Not for lack of my trying. I think he’s in Malaysia, but he should be returning any day now.”

“And what about me?” Jon said. He was beginning to notice it, that Elias provided him with an answer of a sort whenever he asked. But when it wasn’t an answer, Elias would counter with a question of his own, and Jon didn’t always know what he ended up saying in response. Though Jon thought, when push came to shove, that he did a good job of not showing any insecurity. 

Elias peered at him up and down. It was an appraising sort of look, the sort that he’d give an antique, centuries old, bursting with history. But still an object nonetheless. Still, something in Elias’s eyes softened and his hand left Jon’s knee to clap him on the shoulder instead. It was a kindred touch, one that effectively said they were in the same boat, nearly intimate. 

Elias said, with a bit of a smile, “Nothing will happen to you here, if that’s what you’re worried about, Jon. This too, shall pass. Why don’t you clean yourself up and we can have lunch together? You must be starved.”


End file.
